Mrs G and I have recently retired from business and moved home to the
fair city of Perth (no, not the warm, sunny antipodean one, but the wet,
blustery, cold one in Scotland). This has meant much acquaintance with
the art of erecting flat pack furniture and a renewed discovery of the
frustrations of trying to persuade tradesmen at least to visit and look
at the job on offer, never mind actually turn up to do it.
The weather has been truly crapulous (o.k., we chose to move home in the
wettest November on record) so the bikes have been stuck somewhere in
the garage since the move. Today was a little better, so I thought to
get a bike out and at least find my way from the house to the post
office or somewhere else useful. Forget it! The bikes are so far
behind boxes, crates and assorted stuff, it'll take days to get to them.
Now today the group I ride with about once a month have proposed a nice
ride for this weekend when the weather is said to be going to improve to
the point where snorkels will not be needed, and I can't go because I'll
be in Aberdeen on family business. Bah!!
Roll on springtime, say I, and dry days, and favourable winds, and no
more flat packs.
--
Brian G